My name is Naomi, I’m 34, and three years ago, I bought my own apartment. Right now, I’m staring at an email from HR: my company wants me to work at our European branch for two whole years. It’s a great opportunity, but I can’t just let my apartment sit empty. I still have a mortgage to pay. The obvious solution was to rent it out.
I spent a few weeks getting the place ready, hiring contractors to repaint and fix up the bathroom. While they worked, I crashed at my friend Sarah’s house. The only thing left was to tell my parents, which I’d been putting off because they have… opinions.
My sister, Lisa, is 26 and still lives with them. They’ve always babied her. She’s been dating a guy named Jake for about six months; neither of them seems to work much. I’m the one who paid for most of Lisa’s college because my parents said they couldn’t afford it.
Two weeks before my departure, I finally worked up the nerve and went over for dinner.
“So,” Mom said as we sat down to her pot roast. “What’s this news?”
I took a deep breath. “The company offered me a position in Europe. I’ll be gone for two years.”
“That’s wonderful, honey,” Dad said. “We’re proud of you.”
“Thanks. But there’s one more thing. I’m planning to rent out my apartment while I’m gone to cover the mortgage.”
The mood in the room changed instantly. My parents exchanged one of those silent, married-people looks.
“Actually,” Mom said slowly, “you don’t need to rent it out to strangers. Lisa and Jake could stay there. That way, you know it’s in good hands.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your sister needs her own space,” Mom pressed on. “And they’re planning to get married soon.”
I looked at Lisa, who was suddenly very interested, and Jake, who was smiling like he’d just won the lottery.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “If they want to rent it from me, I’m open to that. I’d even give you guys a 20% discount.”
The silence that followed was deafening. “Are you serious right now?” my mother hissed, her face turning red. “You want to charge your own sister rent?”
“Mom, I have a mortgage to pay. The whole point is to cover those payments.”
“But she’s family!”
Lisa finally spoke up. “God, Naomi, you’re so greedy. I can’t believe you won’t just let me live there.”
“I do help family,” I shot back. “Who paid for your college when Mom and Dad couldn’t afford it?”
“Because you make way more money than we do!” Lisa leaned forward. “You can afford to let me live there for free.”
“We need that income,” Dad said. “We’re saving for Lisa’s wedding.”
I stared at him. “And I need income to pay my mortgage. How is my situation any different?”
Lisa slammed her hand on the table. “Because we’re your family! Besides, I don’t want to live in Mom and Dad’s rental apartment. It’s in a terrible neighborhood. Your place is downtown.”
“So, you want the better apartment, but you don’t want to pay for it?”
“God, you’re such a bitch,” Lisa muttered.
My mother’s voice was ice cold. “I think you should leave.”
“Fine by me,” I said, grabbing my purse and walking out the door.
Back at Sarah’s, I recounted the entire disaster. “Naomi,” she said, shaking her head, “they’ve always favored Lisa. You’re the responsible one who’s expected to pay for everything.” She was right, but it still hurt.
A few days later, I went to check on my newly renovated apartment. It looked amazing. While I was there, I called a promising couple, Mark and Jennifer Chin, who had applied to rent the place. We arranged for them to see it in two days.
I arrived a few minutes early to meet them. They were a nice, professional couple in their thirties. We chatted as we rode the elevator up.
“Okay, here we are,” I said, unlocking my apartment door. I pushed it open and stepped inside, with Mark and Jennifer right behind me.
And that’s when I saw them.
Lisa was sitting on my couch in sweatpants. Jake was in the kitchen, making a sandwich. Suitcases were piled in the corner.
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. “What the hell?”
Lisa looked up, completely unfazed. “Oh, hey Naomi. You should have knocked.”
“Knocked? This is my apartment!”
Mark and Jennifer looked at each other, then at me. “Um,” Jennifer said quietly. “Is this a bad time?”
“No,” I said, my voice rising. “These people are not supposed to be here.”
Lisa stood up. “Actually, we are. Mom gave us the key yesterday. We moved in last night.”
My hands were shaking. Jennifer touched my arm. “Maybe we should come back another time.”
“No, wait,” I said, but I could see in their faces that they were already done. They left, and I knew they wouldn’t be calling back.
I turned back to Lisa and Jake. “Get out,” I said.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Lisa replied calmly. “Mom said we could stay here.”
Jake nodded. “Yeah, and don’t worry about utilities. We figure you can keep paying those.”
I pulled out my phone and walked out of the apartment. I sat in my car in the parking lot and called 911. “I need to report a break-in,” I told the dispatcher. “There are people in my apartment who don’t have permission to be there.”
Twenty minutes later, two police officers, Martinez and Kim, showed up. I explained the situation as we rode the elevator up. When we entered the apartment, Lisa and Jake looked nervous.
“Ma’am,” Officer Martinez said to me, “can you confirm that you didn’t give these individuals permission to be here?”
“That’s correct,” I said. “I did not.”
He turned to Lisa and Jake. “You need to gather your belongings and leave within the next hour.”
That’s when Lisa completely lost it, screaming at me, calling me every name in the book. Then she tried to come at me. Officer Kim grabbed her arm, but Jake made it worse by shoving the officer. “Get your hands off her!”
That was a huge mistake. Within seconds, Jake was on the floor in handcuffs. When Lisa tried to kick Officer Martinez, she ended up in handcuffs, too.
“You’re both under arrest,” Officer Martinez said. “Trespassing and assault on a police officer.”
They read them their rights while I just stood there, watching my sister and her boyfriend being arrested in my apartment.
After they were gone, I called a locksmith and had the locks changed immediately. My parents’ spare key was now useless. Then I called a courier to pack up Lisa and Jake’s belongings and deliver them to my parents’ house. My phone rang nonstop with calls and furious texts from my mother. I ignored every single one.
The next morning, I hired my friend Danny, a real estate agent, to handle the rental. Three days later, I flew to Europe. Two weeks after that, Danny called. The lease was signed with a lovely couple, both doctors.
For the first month, my life was blissfully quiet. Then my aunt Carol, my dad’s sister and the voice of reason in our family, called with an update.
Jake’s parents had found out about the arrest. They were horrified. They called my parents and told them they were disgusted by the whole situation, calling Lisa “spoiled and entitled.” They had been planning to pay for a large portion of the wedding, but after the incident, they pulled all their financial support.
“It gets better,” Carol said. “Lisa begged your mother to let them live in that other rental your parents own. Your mother said no.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “So, Mom suddenly understands the concept of needing rental income?”
“Exactly. Lisa threw a huge fit, they had a massive fight, and now she and Jake are living in some tiny studio apartment and are barely speaking to your parents.”
Three months later, Carol called again. Jake’s parents had offered to reconcile, but only if he apologized to me. He refused. So now he’d lost his family’s support, too. The stress was taking its toll, and Lisa and Jake were fighting constantly.
Six months into my European assignment, I was thriving. My mortgage was being paid, I was saving money, and I was free from the family drama.
“You know,” Carol said during one of our calls, “I’m proud of you for standing your ground. Your parents always expected you to be the one who fixed everyone’s problems. It was time someone said no.”
As I sit in my apartment looking out at the city lights, I don’t feel guilty at all. Sometimes family isn’t about blood. It’s about the people who actually respect you. And sometimes, the healthiest thing you can do is walk away from those who only see you as a means to an end.